


This Their House of Cards

by Entwinedlove



Series: Marvelously Magical Bingo 2018 [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Relationship built on lies, not a HEA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entwinedlove/pseuds/Entwinedlove
Summary: Secrets. Harry had known going into this relationship that there were things both he and Brock wouldn't be able to share. Unfortunately, a house built on such shaky foundations was likely going to come toppling down eventually. He hadn't expected it to be like this, though.





	This Their House of Cards

**Author's Note:**

> For Marvelously Magical Bingo 2018; fills square **G3** – _Brock/Harry_
> 
>  
> 
> [ ](https://i.imgur.com/i83QWhP.jpg)  
> 

"Brock?" Harry called as he unlocked the door to their flat. He dropped his keys in the glass bowl on the table by the door where they made a tinkling sound as they landed. He smiled at the sound and looked around, wondering if his husband was working this weekend.

He didn't really know what Brock did for a living. He knew he worked for SHIELD, as an agent, but from the hard muscle tone, repeated bruising and cuts, he had a feeling Brock was more than just an agent. He probably worked as an operative for some paramilitary division of the intelligence organisation. He'd never said.

But that was all right. Harry had never said he was a wizard either. He'd never mentioned anything about being the saviour of the wizarding world or dying once when he was eighteen. None of it. As far as Brock knew, Harry worked as a professor at a Massachusetts boarding school where he stayed the week and came home on the weekend. Which was all true. He'd just never mentioned that instead of driving the seven hours home and back, he Apparated to where he left the car parked during the week and drove for maybe an hour.

As far as Harry was aware, they were content to not pry. Teaching seemed boring to Brock and government busywork (or even black ops) weren't interesting to Harry. He'd done his time in the Auror department, with the long hours and the dangerous missions, and all it had got him was an ex-wife and more scars.

It was only ill-luck that had Harry falling in love with Brock before he knew about the other man's (likely) career.

But they made it work. During the summers when Harry had off, he and Brock spent a lot of time together. They'd travel, they'd hit up cultural hot spots, they'd relax. Life was good. They were happy.

Harry shucked his shoes by the door and walked socked-footed into the living room. He picked up the remote and clicked on the TV. The news was on. Brock always had the news on. He was about to switch the channel to something sports related for a bit of background noise when he actually focused on the footage they were showing on the screen.

"SHIELD headquarters, the Triskelion, has collapsed and dozens of employees are currently reported missing. It seems that SHIELD's newest iteration of flying aircraft carriers, known as helicarriers, have malfunctioned on their first flight and within minutes of launch all three have crashed. One of which careened into the Triskelion causing the damage you're seeing on screen now."

Half the building was crumbled. Concrete and steel stuck out at odd angles and in the background of the shot Harry could see emergency workers sifting through the rubble.

"Most of the injured SHIELD employees have been taken to..."

Harry was already rushing back to the door, leaving the telly on as he stuffed his feet back into his shoes and grabbed his keys. He wanted to Apparate but knew he couldn't. This city was full of surveillance cameras and he knew it when he moved here. He'd have to drive. Besides, if Brock was at the hospital, Harry would have the car there to bring him home.

His hands shook as he locked the door behind him. Harry would bring him home.

* . * . *

At the hospital, Harry tried not to yell at the nurse at the front desk. "Please, Brock Rumlow, can you tell me if he's here?"

"I'm sorry but if this is about the victims from the Triskelion we're only releasing that information to family. You'll need to—"

"He's my husband," Harry half-growled through his teeth. He grabbed at the counter between them with both hands to stop from palming his wand in his anxiety. "Please," he tried again, only slightly calmer.

The nurse's eyes focused on his clenched left hand and the golden ring there before typing something into the computer in front of her. "I'm sorry," she said as she waited for the information to load, "I thought you were a reporter. We've had half a dozen try to get in to see any number of people who might have been admitted." Harry didn't accept her apology, in fact, he only stared at her as he waited. He didn't care about reporters and she shouldn't have just assumed. She glanced up and flinched a little at his stare before saying that Brock was in the OR. "They'll put—"

"Do you know what happened?"

She bit her lip, hesitating. "He has severe burns from an explosion," she said and then gave him a floor number. "That's where his room will be when he's out of the OR. I'll put a note in his file that his husband is in the waiting area up there."

"Thank you," Harry said. He turned, debating whether he should wait for the elevator or burn off some of his anxiety by taking the stairs when the nurse called his name again.

"Mr Rumlow?" Harry turned around. "He doesn't have a husband listed in his medical records. That might just be because you recently got—"

Harry was already shaking his head. "No," he said, licking his lips as a different sort of dread flooded his stomach. "We've been married for close to five years."

Something like pity flashed over her face. He turned and headed for the stairs. Maybe Brock had just forgotten to update some form or another. Harry tucked his thumb into his palm to feel the smooth, slightly scuffed band of his wedding ring at the base of his ring finger, wanting the comfort he usually got from the action. It didn't ease the worry building up in his veins.

* . * . *

When Brock finally opened his eyes Harry was by his bedside and had been there for days. He probably looked like shit complete with stubbly beard and greasy hair but he didn't care a wit. Brock was bound up with so much gauze and bandages he couldn't even hold his hand but he could listen, so Harry spoke to him.

"I'm here, Brock, I'm here."

The bandages around his face shifted a little and Harry hoped he was smiling.

* . * . *

The following months had been rough. Brock was still half-swathed in gauze but most of his face and one of his hands were free. Harry'd been with him through most of everything, even going so far as to asking Ilvermorny to find a replacement teacher so he wouldn't have to leave his husband's side. The nurses had finally insisted he go home to bathe and eat more regularly and Harry had conceded only because they said it would help Brock recover quicker to know he was taking care of himself.

Either way, recovery was slow.

There were dozens of times where Harry had almost given in and taken Brock to one of the Wizarding hospitals in the area but he couldn't, not without sharing his secret. Harry had known going into this relationship that there would be things he wouldn't be able to share with his husband. He'd gone through with it anyway, believing the pros outweighed the cons. Sitting next to Brock's hospital bed and listening to the doctor word his prognosis as carefully as possible regarding the likelihood of scarring and permanent nerve damage hadn't crossed his mind when he'd made that decision.

It almost made him regret it.

The telly was set on a news channel but the volume was low. "Stop scratching, Brock," Harry said for the fifteenth time that hour.

"It itches. Goddammit. And it's not like me scratching at it's gonna make it scar. We both know that underneath these bandages I'm one ugly motherfucker now."

"There's still treatment options to consider when you're healed."

"Bullshit."

They were quiet for a while as Brock nibbled at his dinner tray. Each time his fork hit his plate it squeaked with the pressure with which he stabbed at it.

"So, I got a call back from the school. They're asking if I'm coming back for the new school year..." Harry said. He knew Brock was getting tired of being cooped up in the hospital and the doctor had suggested that Brock might make better progress if Harry wasn't there every day. He thought the nurses were just tired of seeing his face every day and had called in the doctor to give him a pseudo-psychological reason to get him out of the ward.

Brock snorted and let his fork drop. It clattered to the plastic tray top. "You're still going for that lie, huh? Give it up already. I've known for years you don't work at some damn school in Massachusetts."

"What?" Harry asked, dumbfounded at the accusation.

"Your car? You drive an hour out of the city and park it for the week. I could never get the surveillance footage from the garage you park in but I figure your lover picks you up. You play house for the week. What? You got a family I don't know about? Wife and kids?"

"I have an ex-wife that you do know about. She lives in England. I don't know what you're..." he trailed off, realising he was going to be caught in a lie otherwise. "I do work at a school in Massachusetts."

"You really think I'm stupid, don't ya? What have you told her about your staying here all this time? She know you're married to me? Or maybe you two broke up?"

"Brock, I'm married to _you_. I love _you_. What are you going on about?"

"You just can't stop with the lies, huh?"

Harry didn't know what to do. Did he come clean about magic? Now? After months in the hospital and permanent scarring and nerve damage when magic could have healed him in less than a week? How horribly selfish would that make him, that he didn't prevent Brock all the pain and discomfort of recovery? He opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ to stop Brock from going on with this accusation when the TV caught Brock's attention. He turned the volume up.

"...A lot of speculation and conjecture still surrounds the horrific events that took place alongside the Potomac during the extremely visible fall of SHIELD... specifically around the death of one particular individual who seemed to be instrumental in orchestrating the attack—Alexander Pierce."

"No..." Brock murmured, seemingly shocked. Had no one mentioned that of the many casualties of the fall of the Triskelion had been his boss? The news continued to delve into who Pierce was and how he was connected to HYDRA.

Even Harry, who rarely watched the news when it turned political had heard about how HYDRA, the world war two-era terrorist organisation, had infiltrated SHIELD and how many involved in the agency were also HYDRA agents.

"This wasn't supposed to happen..." Brock muttered, scratching at his arm where the IV was connected.

"Stop scratch—"

"Shut up!" Brock shouted.

"Brock—"

"Ah," he said, as he yanked the IV loose, dropping it over the side of the bed, "Gotcha."

"What are you—"

"I said shut up!" Brock growled. He swung at Harry and would have caught him on the jaw with his fist had Harry not jerked back, (seems those Auror skills weren't lost after all). He rolled out of the bed, with his hand pressed against where he ripped the IV out. "I've got to get out of here."

"What? Where are you going to go? Brock, get back in the bed, I'll tell you—"

"I don't care, Harry," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not who you thought I was either, all right? Just... drop it. I'm leaving," he said, stalking towards the door in his socked feet.

Harry stood up, thinking he'd catch Brock if he fell. He knew his emotions were written on his face but he couldn't let someone else just walk away from him again. Not without putting up a fight."I'll follow."

Brock barely spared him a glance. "Don't."


End file.
